


Numb and Dissociating

by bottomofnight



Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: F/M, I wrote this at like 2am, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Please Take Caution When Reading, Scars, Self-Harm, Seán with the accent, but i'm all good man, happy as can be, somewhat graphic self-harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 16:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19380181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottomofnight/pseuds/bottomofnight
Summary: A short one-shot with Seán and the (female) reader.You and Seán are a happy a couple, but you're going through some really tough times. Seán can't help but blame himself, even though he knows it's not his fault. He loves you so much and he had never imagined you falling back into what he thought was an old addiction, but here we are.-TRIGGER WARNING-Please take caution!





	Numb and Dissociating

**Author's Note:**

> -TRIGGER WARNING-  
> Please take caution!

“Goodnight, I love you,” you whispered to Seán from your side of the bed. 

He smiled warmly, “I love you too, sweet dreams.” He kissed the top of your head and you smiled before closing your eyes restlessly. You weren’t planning to sleep for a while, but you had to wait for Seán to go to sleep so you’d have more time. 

Eventually, he drifted off, his breath equal with his chest that rose and fell. You carefully stood, trying not to wake him, and ventured to the bathroom door. Quietly closing it behind you, you rushed to the cupboard, grabbing the box of tampons; it was the least suspicious place. Reaching in, you pulled out a small jewelry box and set it on the counter before putting the box away. Staring at the box that sat peacefully, you considered your options, were you really about to do this? Yes, you were. You had already made up your mind, and you weren’t going to quit now. You needed this more than anything. 

You were ready on the floor, sitting against the wall with your favourite razor lying beside you. Seán had seen your scars before, but only the ones on your shoulders and face in the light; the ones that were the most visible. You covered up during the day and only wore t-shirts when you slept. Seán understood and didn’t push. He knew the scars were faded and old, so he didn’t see why there was anything to be concerned about. Everyone has shit they did in their past. 

You weren’t quite sure why you had decided to do this. You just didn’t feel real anymore. Numb and dissociating most of the day. Depression had hit hard, again, and you weren’t sure what to do about it. Seán was the one that brought you out of it last time, but now you didn’t want him to save you. You deserved this. You deserved this so fucking much. The pain and craving of the rush; the high of endorphins for a couple of minutes. God, you wanted that so much. 

Picking up the blade, you watched as your hand shook uncontrollably, the silver shining in your hand. You wanted to do this without thinking; without thinking of better ways to cope and the consequences of what you were about to do. So, you searched for the perfect place on your arm, searching for a spot without too much scarring to get through. You considered the back of your hand, but it would be too difficult to hide, so you settled on your inner wrist, a couple of inches below where it met your hand. Perfect. 

The metal pressed against your skin, your sweaty hands having to hold tighter for a good grip. Swiping, you knew you wanted blood, lots of blood, but you were only met with a small line. You were disappointed and felt so fucking pathetic. You needed something sharper that’d do the damage you craved. A sick smile plastered on your face as you searched the drawers, eventually finding what you were looking for: a pack of Seán’s replacement Gillette razor blades. The double-sided blade looked ever so appealing, and you knew they were very fucking sharp. There were so many in a pack that he probably wouldn’t even realize one was missing. 

Now, you were kind of nervous, you’d never used a blade this sharp and you weren’t sure how much pressure you should use. You tested it on your upper forearm first, carefully applying a small amount of pressure. A small cut appeared that showed a good amount of dermis, but it wasn’t as deep as you wanted. Either way, you were now accustomed to the sharpness of the blade. Lowering it back down to your wrist, you swiped. A sharp sting overcame you as your shoulders relaxed and you rested your head against the wall, eyes closed. You could definitely get used to this again. After a moment, you looked down at the damage; a thick cut that ran diagonally towards the inside of your wrist. Yellow fat poked through the blood that clouded around, quite literally pouring to the floor. You knew you didn’t hit anything major, but you were annoyed by the blood you’d have to clean up later from the floor. The stinging subsided and you pressed the blade to your skin again, this time leaving a more horizontal cut that was closer to your hand. It was a bit thinner, but still supplied you with plenty of endorphins. Sitting against the wall for a bit, you dreaded having to clean everything up, including yourself. Closing your eyes, you relaxed, drifting off to the pleasure the cuts had given you. 

* * *

“Y/n? You okay?” You woke up, looking down at the dried puddle of red that was beside you. What time was it? “Y/n?” Seán’s voice rang through the door, concerned and urgent. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” you said, clearing your throat from the sleep that coated it. Stumbling up, you turned on the sink. 

“Are you sure? I woke up at like 3 and you were in there, but I thought you were just going to the bathroom. Have you been in there since then?” He asked worryingly. 

“No, I went to the bathroom when you woke up that time, but then went back to bed. I just got in here,” you lied, scrubbing at the dried blood on your arm with the water before dampening a cloth. 

He comprehended your words for a second and you hoped he’d believe you, “Can I come in, then? I have to piss.” 

You swallowed, you were now on your knees trying to scrub the floor with the wet cloth, “Uh, yeah, just give me a sec,” you said, scrubbing furiously at the floor. When you finished, you cleaned off the cloth quickly and opened the door to Seán. 

He was happy to see you, but you watched as his smile soon faded as his eyes drifted down your body, “What happened to your shorts?” He asked. Looking down, you saw blood covering part of your shorts; the red contrast to the light grey. 

“Oh, uh, you know…” you trailed off, “Just got my period,” you said sheepishly. 

Seán nodded in understanding before kissing your cheek and going into the bathroom, “Awe, I’m sorry, love.” 

Smiling at him, you went to the dresser and quickly changed your shorts into black leggings and turned around. Seán stood with a puzzled look in the bathroom, holding something in his hand. You froze when the silver shined in his fingertips; you had tossed the razor somewhere in the bathroom in anger last night, and you had totally forgotten about it when you woke. 

“What’s this?” he asked quietly, looking over at you with a pained expression, his voice losing its normally energetic tone, “Y/n…” he pleaded. Not knowing what to do, you just stared at him. You walked over to him in a hurry, grabbing the blade from his hold and throwing it in the toilet before flushing it. Seán just stood there watching your actions, he wasn’t sure what to do. You withdrew and turned to walk out the door, not bearing to look him in the eyes. His hand grabbed your shoulder, and you paused for only a second before pulling away and leaving the bedroom. Seán ran his hands over his face, he had no clue what to do. The front door slammed shut as you left and Seán winced; he couldn’t figure out a correct solution to this. He figured he should give you space, but how much was too much? He didn’t want you to be lonely. Sitting down on the bed, he rested his head in his hands, he hoped you’d come back soon and talk with him; he loved you and only wanted to help. He hated himself for not talking to you about it sooner, but he knew you didn’t want to talk about it and the scars were faded. It was so clear to him that you hadn’t hurt yourself like that in a long time, but maybe if he’d talked to you about it in the first place then you would’ve come to him before relapsing. Was it a relapse? He wasn’t sure. He had thought you were clean, but what if you weren’t? What if all his reasons for thinking you were okay were nonexistent? If only he’d talked to you before, maybe he would’ve been able to help. Maybe he would’ve been your solution, rather than… this.


End file.
